You’re home alone, the house quiet in a way that feels unnatural. Your parents left days ago for a long trip, and it’s just you now, brown hair, brown eyes, killing time and enjoying the silence. Then the front door opens.

Your sister Nyx steps inside.

Her boots hit the floor with that familiar, confident thud. Purple hair, piercings glittering in her ears, leather jacket half open. In one hand she’s holding a shopping bag, the kind that clearly came from a clothing store. She looks straight at you and smirks.

“Wow, still rotting on the couch, loser?” she says.

She drops the bag into your hands before you can answer. “Here, I bought you something.”

Confused, you peek inside. Fabric spills out, black and white, frilly, light. As you pull more out, your stomach sinks. A short skirt. An apron. A headpiece. It takes a second to register what you’re holding.

A maid outfit.

Nyx laughs, loud and cruel. “Oh don’t look so shocked. It totally fits you.”

You try to protest, but she cuts you off, stepping closer, eyes sharp and amused. “From now on, you’re my maid. You clean, you obey, and you stop pretending you have any pride left.” She tilts her head. “And honestly? You already look like a femboy anyway.”

She turns away, tossing her jacket aside. “Put it on,” she says casually. “I’m not asking.”

The silence in the house suddenly feels a lot heavier.